


The Driver

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [56]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Car Accidents, Greg Sanders Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Impalement, M/M, Nick Stokes Whump, Whump, gunshot wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Nick and Greg are stranded after a car accident in the desert.
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes
Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [56]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257824
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	The Driver

**Author's Note:**

> prompted off of an anon, who wrote the first line, and I wrote the rest! Might continue this some day.

"Greg, you're bleeding!" Nick screams.

“So arrr yuh-youuuu,” Greg slurs, pointing a shaking hand at Nick’s bloodied face. Nick coughs as a billow of smoke fumes out of the hood of his crushed car, squints through the blinding headlights of the opposing Hummer that had driven into his Cadillac head-on. 

He touches his fingers to a gushing wound on his forehead, a result of the pinball of his head smashing against the window and then bouncing on the steering wheel. He wipes the blood on his jacket, waving over shards of glass he didn’t realize had attached to the leather. 

Nick shakes his head and unbuckles his seat belt, springs into action to get Greg out of the car. 

“‘M fine…” Greg mutters as he moves to unbuckle himself, but Nick just gently bats his bleeding hand out of the way, completely surprised Greg wants to move at all, with all the glass sticking in his body, the windshield wiper blade piercing through his shoulder.

“No, you’re not,” Nick scolds him as his fights through the teeter-tottering of his vision to free Greg, carefully maneuvering the seat belt around the wiper blade. “Just, just sit t-tight, I’m gonna go around and pull you out.”

“The evidence…” Greg’s head lolls to the side, he watches in the side mirror as figures dressed in black pull something out of the back of Nick’s car.

“Ah, shit, not again,” Nick pulls out his fire arm, as he struggles to open the door beside him. He staggers out, using the car for leverage–he has to pause, Greg hears him retch up what he presumes to be blood, or vomit, or both before he moves to touch his forehead, as if he could just take his injury away.

“Nick, nooooooooo….” Greg groans through the shattered windshield as Nick shimmies his way between the narrow space of the collided vehicles. Nick seems to ignore him, Greg feels around for the window control with his right hand, rolls it down so he can keep talking to Nick. “Don’…b-beeee…stuuuuupid.”

“It’s ‘kay, Greg, I got this,” Nick whispers with a quick glance to his friend before he raises his voice to a commanding shout, “HEY! LVPD, let me see your hands!” 

Nick had just made it to the passenger’s side of the car when Greg saw the figures in the mirror turn, raising up fire arms, but Nick already had the draw, takes the first shot–

Greg’s eyes are still transfixed on the mirror, his heart lodged somewhere in his throat, when he hears the whizzing of a bullet pass by his right ear, and shoot into Nick with a _fwip!_ followed by a pained yell from the Texan before he falls backwards onto the ground, out of his view. He tries to shift his weight to get a view of his fallen friend, but feels like he’s pinned to the seat, works to crane his neck instead. 

“Ni-ick,” Greg hiccups as he continues to strain to get a view of Nick, he feels a trickle of blood slide out of the corner of his lips. His eyes flicker to the mirror once more, the figures are getting larger in the view of the mirror. One of them keeps walking, the other stops right at the door, leans in on the open window.

“You know, looks like you boys need better protection, you never know who’s on the streets these days…” the stranger drawls, placing a hand on Greg’s head, ruffling his hair. He can hear Nick moan, sputter as if to say something, then hears a _squelch!_ followed by a loud scream from Nick. Greg winces as he realizes Nick was stepped on.

“Not…gonna get ‘way wiff this,” Greg’s words spat as harshly as a wad of spit, mixed with blood, comes in contact with the criminal’s face. He wishes Nick could see this, he would be so proud.

“Oh, Mr…Sanders,” the blurry stranger reads off of Greg’s vest. He pulls up a brown bag of evidence he and Nick had collected from the scene. “Looks like we already have.”

“Hey! Quit fucking around, let’s get outta here!” a distant voice calls, and the stranger moves his hand down onto Greg’s face, pushes him into the seat. His body raises up before stepping down– _goddamn asshole is walking over my boyfriend,_ Greg fumes–and the blinding headlights of the Hummer fade get smaller, before they disappear into the black void of the vast desert, leaving no light except the stars in the Nevada sky.

“Greg!” Nick’s voice calls out from the bottom of the car.

“N-Nick…” Greg moans, as loud as he can.

“You-you got your phone? Can’t-can’t find mine.”

“I t-think so,” Greg mumbles, he grunts as he moves his hands to feel through his pockets, finds the phone. He grimaces under the blinding backlight, shaking fingers manage to dial the three digit number that ran through his mind since he felt the onslaught of glass and wiper blades slam across his body.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“This-this is CSI Sanders, ‘m wiff CSI S-stokes, we-we got in a ca-car-cident.” 

“Okay, CSI Sanders, what is your location?”

“Uh…Nih-ick? Wuh-where we?” 

“I don’t know!” Nick yells. “Fuck, I don’t know where we are!” 

Greg’s mouth hands open, his lower lip shaking as Nick continues to scream, out of pain, anger and anguish into the cold black void they find themselves confined in, tethered to a totaled vehicle. 


End file.
